


The Gift of Giving

by spikala



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:03:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9325259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikala/pseuds/spikala
Summary: It's midwinter time in the Star Wars universe and our favourite heroes and villains are making the most of the festive season. Count down of twelve Christmas-themed drabbles based around the "Twelve Days of Clone Wars" song.





	1. The Force, Strong Within You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Twelfth Day of Christmas, the Clone Wars gave to me—the Force, strong within you.

The air was hot and stuffy; full of moisture and the scent of earth and growing things. Katooni trotted obediently beside Petro as she and the other younglings followed Master Yoda through the Green Room. Plants loomed over her on either side of the narrow path, bright vibrant green leaves punctuated by clusters of crimson flowers.

Ahead of them, the walls of red and green opened up, revealing a sandy clearing under a great glass dome. A single lonely tree took pride of place in the circle of sand: it looked like the tree couldn't make up its mind which way it wanted to grow, wiry branches stretching in every direction.

An AgriCorps worker, an elderly human male draped in a battered robe, was standing beside the tree. He bowed to Master Yoda as the group came to a halt in front of him. "Master Yoda, it is good to see you."

Master Yoda nodded. "Indeed."

Ganodi pushed forward. "I don't understand, Master. Why are we here? All I see are plants."

"Patience, young one." Master Yoda said. He lifted his gimer stick and gestured to the room around them. "Trust the Force, you must. Stretch out with your feelings."

Katooni closed her eyes, reaching for warm familiar feeling of the Force. It rippled around her, just out of her grasp. She frowned slightly. All the plants around her oozed a quiet sense of satisfaction, life humming in every leaf and flower and yet… there was a sadness in the room. Something nearby was unhappy. She reached for the sadness only to have it slip away. She opened her eyes to see Master Yoda watching her.

"Sense something, you did, hmmm?" he asked.

"I thought…" She looked down. "I guess I didn't feel anything."

"On Illum, a lesson you have learned. Use it, you should," Master Yoda said.

 _Trust yourself_. Katooni took a breath. In the past few weeks, she had built her lightsaber and rescued Padawan Tano from pirates _and_ General Grievous. She could do this. She closed her eyes and reached out again, strong and sure, picking her way slowly towards the source of the sadness.

"Very good, young Jedi." Master Yoda's voice broke through her concentration and Katooni opened her eyes to find herself beside the lonely tree that stood in a ring of sand, one hand on its rough bark.

She beamed. "Master Yoda, this is the source of the sadness!"

For the first time, she noticed that unlike all the other plants in the room, this tree didn't have any flowers nestled in amongst the broad leaves, which were drooping sadly.

"It's just a tree," Zatt sniffed. "Unless…" He whipped out his ever-present datapad. "It's… Force-sensitive."

Katooni snatched her hand away from the bark as she stared up at the tree awed. A Force-sensitive tree. She'd never heard of such a thing.

"You are correct, young one." The AgriCorps member stepped forward. "This is the pride of our collection, a Kawa tree. In its natural environment, the tree would be entertained by the forest activity around it." A note of regret entered his mild voice, "however, the Temple is rather lacking in excitement. So every year at mid-winter, we Jedi help perk it up."

"Open yourselves. Feel the Force _flowing_ through you," Master Yoda instructed.

Katooni closed her eyes, visualising the Force wrapped around her, singing through her veins.

Master Yoda's voice was in the background as she concentrated. "Around the tree, wrap the Force. Your happiness, excitement, your adventure, all your feelings. To the Kawa tree, send them. Sad, it should no longer be."

In her mind, Katooni saw the sad tree enveloped in a whirlwind of colour, snatches of emotion from all of her friends; green joy from Ganodi, a purple splash of fierce pride from Petro, and yellow steadiness from Gungi. She fed the tree a deep blue stream of confidence. The tree drank it all in, blazing brightly.

Katooni opened her eyes, blinking in surprise as red threads drifted in front of her eyes. She looked up to see the tree was now covered in a riot of golden-tipped fluffy red flowers, happiness radiating from every leaf and twig.

"We did it!" Ganodi cheered.

Katooni felt a broad grin spread slowly across her face.

Master Yoda chortled. "The Force, strong within you all." He turned and started shuffling away. "Come. Time for your next lesson, it is."


	2. Palpatine A-Plotting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Eleventh day of Christmas, the Clone Wars gave to me—Palpatine a-plotting.

The sun had vanished from the busy Coruscanti sky a long time ago, perhaps scared away by the constant stream of flitters and grav-cars. The corridors of the Senate had taken on a hushed tone, the hustle and bustle of the day gone along with the senators. Now the only beings in the building were the senate guards, as immobile as the statues, and of course the Chancellor.

Commander Fox sighed. The Chancellor always worked late at night, went home for a few scant hours of sleep, then he was back at his office, hours before the keenest senators arrived. The man was almost clone-like in his dedication and commitment. Fox could admire that. In their own separate ways, they were both serving the Republic. The Chancellor just happened to be a _tad_ more important, which is why it was Fox's job to keep him safe, even from himself.

Fox shifted the tray's weight, careful not to spill its contents. He was almost there. Pegg, stationed by the entrance to the Chancellor's office, saluted as Fox neared him. "Commander."

Fox tried to salute in return, but instead almost unbalanced the tray. Pegg reached out and steadied the platter before it went flying.

"Thanks for that, Pegg," Fox said, adrenaline spiking through his veins at the near miss.

"No problem, sir," Pegg said. "If you don't mind me saying so, Commander, it looks like you could use a break."

Fox grinned under his helmet. "You're a good lad to keep an eye on your old Commander, but I'll be all right."

"Sir." Pegg came to attention again, before depressing the door stud beside his elbow.

The door to Palpatine's inner sanctum slid open and Commander Fox edged into the room. "Excuse me, Chancellor, I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Silhouetted against the darkened cityscape, the mild-mannered head of the Republic looked up from his work and smiled at Fox. "Commander Fox, so glad to see you. Please, do come in."

Fox lifted his tray, so that the Chancellor could see it, as he crossed the red carpet towards the great man's desk. "I thought you might care for some early morning refreshment, sir."

The Chancellor passed a hand over his eyes. "Morning? Already? My how time flies," he said in his querulous voice, sounding just like a kindly uncle. Or least, what Fox thought a kindly uncle should sound like.

"Indeed, sir, it's now oh four thirty." Fox slid the tray onto the desk in front of the Republic's head of state and lifted the cover to show the Chancellor the contents. "Eggnog, mulled wine, and a roba steak sandwich—just the way you like it, sir."

He replaced the cover so that the food would stay warm. The Chancellor had a bad habit of forgetting to eat. Commander Fox wasn't about to have the Supreme Commander collapse due to low blood sugar, not on his watch.

"That's very kind of you, Commander. You are good to an old man. The eggnog and mulled wine though… that's not my usual." Palpatine tilted his head, looking up into Fox's visor.

Under his helmet, Fox felt his ears heat up. "I uh, thought seeing as it is mid-winter, you might want something… uh, festive, sir," he stammered. "My apologies, Chancellor, I'll get rid of it right away."

He reached out to remove the offending items, but the Chancellor stopped him with a wave of his hand. "That's quite alright. I appreciate the thought. Thank you for your attentiveness, Commander. That'll be all."

Fox snapped out a salute and beat a hasty retreat, still blushing from his faux pas.

Alone in his office, Darth Sidious permitted himself a faint smile as he reached for the mug. He inhaled the fragrant steam appreciatively, swivelling in his chair to enjoy the lights of his city. As the new sun peeked over the horizon, the Dark Lord of the Sith sat, plotting the downfall of the Republic and drinking his mulled wine.


	3. Padmé's Secret Missions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Tenth day of Christmas, the Clone Wars gave to me—Padmé's secret missions.

"Ahsoka!" Padmé exclaimed as the padawan entered her office. "I didn't expect to see you so early."

"Actually, I'm right on time, Senator. I hope you didn't forget our plans," Ahsoka teased. "I've been looking forward to the show for the past few days now. With Skyguy still off fighting in the Mid-Rim, it's been very quiet in the Temple."

 _Surely it wasn't time yet?_ Padmé glanced at her chrono. _Apparently it was._ "I am so sorry, Ahsoka. I seem to be running late today. It's all these committees, the chairman just didn't call time and we got snarled up in technicalities." She looked around for her assistant.

"Ah, Threepio, could you please file these for me?" She handed over the sheaf of flimsies she was carrying.

The golden protocol droid bobbed respectfully before taking the stack. "Oh of course, my lady! I would be delighted!"

Ahsoka smiled warmly at her, ignoring the fussy droid's babbling. "Busy as ever I see, Senator."

Padmé flapped a hand at her. "Padmé please, Ahsoka, I'm off-duty now." She started rummaging around in her desk drawers looking for the small parcel. "I've just got one more thing to take care of, then we can go."

"Anything I can help with?" the Jedi asked.

 _There it is!_ Padmé's hand finally closed over the object of her search and she held it up triumphantly. "Found it!"

Ahsoka held up her hand and Padmé watched, fascinated as the small present, wrapped in blue crepe paper and festooned with curling golden ribbon drifted across the room to the Togrutan's waiting hands. When it reached her, Ahsoka held it up, inspecting it from every angle.

"What is it?"

Padmé couldn't hold back her laugh at Ahsoka's puzzled expression. "It's a present for Senator Organa. It's an Alderaanian tradition to secretly exchanging gifts with your co-workers over the mid-winter season. Bail, Senator Organa, decided to bring a bit of Alderaanian festivity into the Senate. I just haven't worked out how to get his gift into his office without being spotted."

A mischievous grin crossed Ahsoka's face. "Leave it to me."

* * *

 

"Impressive." Padmé searched for a stronger word, but couldn't find one. "I had no idea that the ventilation shafts were that accessible."

Ahsoka just grunted slightly, her butt wiggling as she shimmied, feet first, back out of the tiny opening. Finally, she was out, carefully replacing the duct grating and brushing dust off her leggings.

"Nothing to it. They train us for this kind of thing in the Temple."

"I'm not sure this is what Master Yoda had in mind, when they taught you this," Padmé commented dryly. The two women exchanged a glance before dissolving into giggles.

"Let's get out of here," Padmé said. "We've got a show to get to."


	4. Sy Snootles Singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Ninth day of Christmas, the Clone Wars gave to me—Sy Snootles singing.

The sound of the music in the small space was almost deafening. The only thing that could compete with it for attention was the stench. In the half-light, Asajj Ventress wrinkled her nose; her half-mask was doing nothing to block out the sinus-searing smell of ammonia and sulphur that wafted from the dais. She had hoped that she would get used to the smell of Hutt, but apparently that wasn't the case.

Jabba growled out a song request in Huttese. The band immediately stopped their current number and after a beat, started up again. It paid to give Jabba what he wanted, especially as it was _his_ palace. The singer, a Pa'lowick named Snootles, was belting out a popular midwinter carol that Ventress recognised; the simple melody twisted to make it both sassy and seductive.

A new figure entered the audience chamber, touching his fingers to the brim of a familiar hat. Jabba inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement and Cad Bane slid into the shadows that littered the throne room.

Ventress tried not to bristle visibly. She had heard of Bane. Everyone in the bounty business had. He was the best. Another complication, another person she would have to keep ahead of if she wanted to collect on Jabba's bounty, whatever that was. She beat back the urge to just stroll out the place. She needed the credits from this job, it was just too bad that Jabba was taking his sweet time spelling out the contract. Perhaps it pleased him to have a crowd of bounty hunters waiting on his every word, like nuna waiting for crumbs.

The current number finished and Jabba held up a hand. A battered silver protocol droid tottered out to one side of the dais, its arms jerking in its haste.

" _H'chu apenkee mikiyuna_ ," Jabba growled out in his deep voice. " _Mi bosco de muishani. Gargon yanah coto da eetha. Jee oto Dooku. Koose gaggalak mursto nei. Bargon u noa-a-uyat_."

He turned huge yellow eyes on the droid, who hastily translated. "The mighty Jabba bids you all greetings. His worshipfulness is in need of a fearless bounty hunter to bring the worm-eating liar, Count Dooku, to him. You will be richly rewarded for your service."

The waiting bounty hunters murmured amongst themselves, discussing the bounty, but Ventress didn't hear the sounds of outrage and disbelief that she was expecting. The music started up again, another midwinter carol pepped up almost beyond recognition. She bit back a laugh. They actually thought they had a chance against Dooku? Jabba must've gone soft, expecting these men to kill the Count of Serreno. As much as she craved revenge, she knew when she was in over her head. This trip had turned out to be a waste of her time. She turned to leave. One person watched her go.

"Leaving so soon, sweetheart?"

Ventress turned to see Cad Bane standing behind her, his red eyes gleaming from under the brim of his ridiculous hat. He was chewing a toothpick for reasons beyond her, but showed no flash of recognition. In the main room, Snootle hit an impossibly high note, eliciting a wince from both outlaws.

"No person can take Dooku. Only a fool would try," Ventress said, making it clear which category she thought he belonged in.

He circled her, ignoring the way her hands dropped to her lightsaber hilts, and stopped in front of her, barely an armspan away. "Information for free—my, aren't we feeling generous," he drawled.

She gave him a thin, humourless smile in return. "Think of it as a midwinter gift."

Bane refused to budge. "Perhaps it's just too difficult a job for you, hmmm?"

"Please yourself. Just don't expect me to attend your funeral."

She pushed past him, into the hallway, and out of Jabba's palace, breathing in a lungful of arid Tattooine air with a sigh of relief. Her clothes would probably have to be burnt; no amount of cleaning would get the smell of Hutt of them. Humming a midwinter carol, Ventress walked out into the desert, back to her ship and civilisation.


	5. Darth Maul A-Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Eighth day of Christmas, the Clone Wars gave to me—Darth Maul a-mending.

In a small run-down house on an unnamed planet in the Outer Rim, two Zabrak brothers waited as the snow swirled outside. Despite the modest furnishings, the ramshackle wooden hut looked like it would've been perfectly in place in any midwinter tableau. Perched on a weathered wooden table, a modest midwinter spread sat, savoury aromas wafting from the mound of mashed topato and the roasted nuna. In a rustic stone fireplace, the fire was hungrily devouring the logs of wood.

Maul was sitting in front of the flames, lost in the vision of destruction as he unconsciously twirled a small wooden top between his fingers. He had been distracted for three days now, on edge, snapping at Savage over minor irritations. Enough was enough. They were brothers and on Dathomir, it was midwinter—a time for family.

"Brother."

His tortured brother finally tore his gaze away from the fire and looked at him. "What is it?" Maul snapped.

Savage refused to back down, gesturing towards the steaming dishes spread out on the table. "I have made us a midwinter feast, brother. We are going to sit down and enjoy it like family."

"We should be plotting our revenge on Kenobi, training, preparing"—Maul wrenched himself back around to glare at the fire—"not sitting here _feasting_!"

"The time in not yet right, brother," Savage reminded, using Maul's own words. "Our allies need time to get into position on Mandalore. Right now, Midwinter is family time."

"You may be my brother, but we are not family," Maul said.

That hurt. Savage felt the rage swell in him in a black wave of hate and he knew Maul felt it too. _Kercrack!_ The sound of porcelain breaking brought him back to his senses. Savage went to inspect the damage. He'd broken the serving dishes and the cups; the nuna had toppled over onto one side over jagged fragments of china, the topato had escaped its confinement and as for the glasses… Being Force-sensitive had its drawbacks.

There was a clicking noise, metal skittering over polished wood, as Maul came over to stare at the mess. "Your control leaves much to be desired," he said.

Savage wrestled his urge to strike the other man, stuffing his anger down deep inside him for later use in training, and started to clean up. He was about to throw the whole nuna into the recycler when Maul stopped him with an outstretched hand.

"Don't. We may as well eat."

As midwinter feasts went, it was hardly traditional. The brothers sat silently, forking out mouthfuls from the ruins of the tableware and passing the thankfully-unscathed bottle of wine between them.

"Feral would've liked it here."

Savage's comment fell flat. He waited from the inevitable speech from his brother about not regretting weaklings, but Maul just kept chewing. The pause stretched, dragging out.

"Feral?"

"Our brother. Another reason Ventress must pay."

The lecture didn't come.

Savage realised for the first time what his younger brother had missed out on. He'd had Feral with him during those long years of training in the Nightbrothers' village. Who had Maul had? He shut his eyes. This was weakness talking. _Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken_. The words of Maul's Sith Code rang loudly in his ears.

His brother wasn't thinking of the Sith though. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "Tell me about him. And our mother."

Maul was not Feral, not the other half to Savage's soul, but he was family and it was midwinter.

Outside, the wind howled and banged a loose shutter. Snow flurries dashed themselves against the windows. The fire crackled merrily in the grate. And in a little hut in the middle of nowhere, the shattered pieces of a family began to make themselves whole.


	6. Lightsabers Swinging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Seventh day of Christmas, the Clone Wars gave to me—Lightsabers swinging.

Midwinter was Petro's favourite time of the year. The normally serious and solemn masters took on an air of fun and Temple life took on a more relaxed pace with fewer lessons and more free time. Then of course, there was the midwinter luncheon to look forward to. But Petro's favourite part of the midwinter festival was the light festival – a traditional display of lightsaber skills which usually cumulated in two members of the Council sparring. He was looking forward to it this year especially. After all, he had built his own lightsaber – he was a Jedi now! — and he could take part in the katas afterwards, a rare chance for all members of the Order to relax.

So it was that when midwinter's eve rolled around, Petro gathered along with the rest of the Temple's inhabitants in the great hall, to watch as Master Windu and Master Fisto went head to head in the final display of the evening.

Petro watched with bated breath as a green blade winked around the purple. The two Masters' blades moved in a whirlwind of parry and riposte too fast for him to follow. The smell of ozone was thick in the air, catching in the back of his throat. For a split second, Petro recognised Master Fisto's stance—the basic Form I that every Jedi knew, but he'd had never seen it like this. In Master Fisto, it was _art_. He heard faint murmurs of appreciation for the duellists' form from older Jedi around him as the fighters ducked and wove their way through the tall columns of the Temple's foyer.

Master Windu bounded off a column and landed not ten feet away from Petro whose heart was hammering in his chest like a mad thing. Master Fisto was right on his heels, impossibly fast, slashing at his torso. Master Windu caught the strike easily, lightsabers sizzling and arcing as they clashed. Master Windu's hand flickered, pushing the green blade to one side as he spun, slashing at the Natuloan Master's legs. For a brief moment, Petro thought that Master Fisto would be caught off guard, but suddenly he wasn't there. Off to one side, 'saber held high, Master Fisto lunged forward only to stumble, falling past Master Windu who tapped his opponent's back with his blade.

There was a _snap_ - _hiss_ as both Masters deactivated their 'sabers. Master Fisto burst into laughter, still sitting on the ground. "Once more I am undone by your wily ways, Master."

Petro watched in awe as Master Windu smiled (smiled!) and reached out a hand to haul the other Council Member to his feet. Master Fisto acted as though nothing had happened even though Petro knew from experience that even at the lowest power setting, a lightsaber tap _hurt_.

An unexpected elbow caught him in the ribs. "What just happened?" Ganodi hissed in his ear. "I didn't see."

"How am I supposed to know?" he retorted.

He was too loud. A female Jedi, one Petro didn't recognise, smiled down at them. "There was nothing _to_ see, young ones. Master Windu caught Master Fisto off guard with a well-timed Force push."

"Oh."

"A simple technique, but a powerful one," she remarked. She caught sight of the shiny cylinders hanging at their waists. "Ah, I see you have both built your lightsabers. May I?"

Petro unclipped his saber from his belt and handed it over, watching and trying to muffle his anxiety as she inspected it, turning it over in her hands. Finally, she returned it to him.

"This is fine work, young Jedi."

Petro puffed up a little bit at the praise as Ganodi handed hers over to the strange knight. Ganodi's new lightsaber also passed muster. "This too is a well-constructed lightsaber."

It was time. Everyone was spreading out, forming a grid of evenly spaced participants. Petro's excitement mounted. Finally, he could take part. Silence fell. With a massive _snap-hiss_ all of the Jedi present ignited their lightsabers at once. Petro watched joyfully as the pale blue of his own blade joined the mosaic of midwinter lights. Then, as one, the Jedi moved into kata practise.


	7. General Grievous Slaying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Sixth day of Christmas, the Clone Wars gave to me—General Grievous slaying.

Sunlight gleamed off the fresh dusting of powder snow on the ground. The scanty trees and buttresses of rock that dotted the landscape were covered with a generous layer of white. The crisp air whipped up General Grievous' cape as he sped across the landscape in his new custom combat speeder – a midwinter gift to himself. Inches above the surface, the speeder looked like a sleigh of old, kicking up a fine spray of snow in its wake. The General let loose a throaty laugh as he zoomed up a sloped boulder, the speeder taking flight for an instant.

Grievous opened the throttle, urging the speeder on. _Faster_ , _faster!_ His vision tunnelled with the sheer speed of his flight, his surroundings turning into a blur of white interspersed with the dark shadows of the trees, and he felt a surge of adrenaline in his veins. That in itself was unusual, so little of him was organic anymore; it was so hard to feel anythin, except when he was fighting. That's when he came alive, when all his lightsabers were swinging, his foes falling before him, despair and terror in their eyes. Those were the moments he lived for. Speeding through snowy canyons on a new speeder was a close second though.

In the distance ahead, a mound of snow quivered. Grievous slowed the speeder, throttling it back. The mound shuddered then melted away as a MagnaGuard rose out of the snow, its electrostaff glowing faint pinky-purple in the sunlight. More figures erupted from the white wasteland in a semi-circle in front of him, the stone walls of the canyon rising up on either side, hemming him in. He threw back his head and laughed long and loud. So, it was here that it would happen then.

His crafty bodyguards had chosen their ambush point well. B1 droids hurried out from behind him to cut off his retreat as he brought the speeder to a halt. Grievous stopped just short of the line of MagnaGuard droids; their capes flapped in the wind, throwing off stray hunks of snow and ice.

"Halt!" one of the spindly B1's shouted.

Grievous just laughed, powering down his new toy. He reached for the lightsabers at his waist, unclipping four of his favourites. There was a dull _kachonk_ as his arms split, and a _pzt-hmmm_ as he ignited the sabers, beams of blue and green winking into existence.

One of the B1's cottoned onto what was going to happen to them. "Uh oh…"

Grievous was on them, sabers slicing through the droids in a shower of sparks as they fired their blasters (set to their lowest setting, of course!) at him. Two mighty sweeps and the B1's were all down, tan casing glowing red hot where he'd sliced them asunder. Grievous laughed again. None could stand before him, Jedi or droid.

Movement from the left! Grievous scuttled out of the way as one of the IG-100's brought up its pike in a brutal thrust. Not even close. His blood hummed in his veins, he felt so alive as he hacked and parried, constantly in motion as the droids hemmed in about him, electrostaves humming as they tried to land a blow on him, photoreceptors gleaming red in the light of his sabers. They were Jedi-fast, but he was faster. Glee coursed through him as he ducked and wove around their strikes. One of the droids went down as he managed to clip the red reset button on its front. Another followed shortly after, its head sailing away in a spray of warm, dark lubricant oil. The attack of the remaining droids became a concerted effort to knock his lightsabers away, but he just laughed at their efforts. Once more he was Qymaen jai Sheelal; scourge of his enemies, saviour of his people, laying waste to his foes, slaying all who opposed him. He ducked under the swing of one droid, viciously slashing through its midsection so it landed in nine neat chunks. Three left. He grinned behind his mask. Hefting two arms high he began spinning his sabers, holding them in front of him to create an impenetrable whirlwind. Snow hissed—turning into steam instantly as his sabers cut neat lines in the ground. The droids tried to parry, but he'd built up too much speed and their electrostaves went flying, followed by their arms. With one backhand sweep, he decapitated them all, sending the heads flying with such force that they landed a good ten metres away, the residual heat in the durasteel casings melting the snow around them with a sizzle.

The only sounds were the wind in the trees, the hum of his sabers, and the hiss of melting snow. His foes lay destroyed around him, pieces littering the trampled slush. His new speeder hovered obediently nearby. Grievous powered down his lightsabers, clipping them back around his waist. He tapped his communicator.

An image of a standard B1 droid shimmered to life above the device. "Sir."

"My bodyguards have run into some trouble—" he broke off as a cough wormed its way out of his throat "—see that they are retrieved and repaired."

"Roger roger."

Grievous cut off the comm link and tucked the device away. He re-sheathed his extra arms and climbed back on his speeder. _Now... let's see how fast this thing can go_. In a flurry of snow, he was gone.


	8. Fives and His Team!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Fifth day of Christmas, the Clone Wars gave to me—Fives and his team!

In Grand Army barracks on Coruscant, things were getting serious. The chips were down, all bets were off, and everyone was baying for blood.

Torrent Company's commanding officer, Clone Captain Rex was joining in as enthusiastically as any man in his company. "Come on, Fives! Put your back into it!"

Any reply the ARC trooper was going to make vanished in an _oomph!_ as he was tackled heavily to the ground by Trapper.

"Gooaall!" The roar of the Ghost Company supporters and groans of the Torrent men drowned out Fives' swearing, but Rex had a fair idea what the ARC trooper might be calling the other player.

It looked like the barracks had completely emptied out, the crude bolo-ball field that Rex and Cody had laid out on the barrack's landing zone was now surrounded by a crowd of men stacked four deep. The more enterprising troopers had dragged up crates and chairs so that they could get a clear view of the game over the heads of their brothers. Rex noticed that almost every man had managed to adorn himself with something yellow or blue to quietly show his allegiance. Or in the case of Tup, Joc, and Hil, who had managed to paint their entire torsos bright blue, scream it out.

The burly Ghost Company trooper picked himself off Fives and offered him a hand up. Fives waved the hand away and the other man trotted off back to his position. Pulling himself onto a knee, Fives levelled a dagger glare at Rex. "Next time, _sir,_ you can play."

Rex managed to control his laughter, a grin creasing his face. "Can't do that, Fives. I'm the coach, remember?" That earned him another look of disgust.

All the players were back in position, waiting for the match to resume. Rex managed to catch the linesman's eye, Forr – who was from Ghost, and signal a time out. Forr nodded and stepped out on the field, waving his arms above his head and looking for all the world like one of the flight deck crews from the _Resolute_ waving down a larty.

One by one, the other members of Fives' team—Ross, Zeer, Jesse, and Attie—trotted over to Rex who pulled them all into a tight huddle, away from the press of the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye, Rex noticed that the opposition—Boil, Punch, Sketch, Trapper, and Wooley—were also having a tête-à-tête with Cody.

"Sir?" Ross asked, clearly puzzled why Rex had called for a break.

"Gentlemen, what happened?" Rex asked, voice mock-stern. "That yellow rabble just managed to score. Is that acceptable?"

"Sir, no, sir!" his men chorused.

Because it was tradition, and because it seemed to happen in every sports game he'd seen on the holonet, Rex bellowed at them in his best drill sergeant's manner. "I said — is that acceptable?"

"Sir! No sir!" they yelled back at him.

"Good! Now I want you to get back out there and show them why the Seps are terrified of Torrent!"

All five men broke into grins, Sergeant Zeer even cheered. They trotted back to their posts, sweat-slicked skin gleaming under the blazing sun as Torrent's supporters roared out their approval. Even Rex had long-since given up on any sense of decorum and joined the men in shucking off their shirts. It was _hot_ today.

The whistle went and there was an immediate meaty smack of flesh against flesh as Jesse and Boil collided whilst contending for possession. Jesse got the better of the encounter and Boil went sprawling. The ball soared overhead, a white dot against the blue sky, as Jesse kicked it to Attie who stuck his arms out under it, waiting. Attie caught the ball neatly and was promptly buried under a pile of bodies as Punch, Wooley, and Sketch tackled him all at once.

Rex was on his fee on an instant. "Ref! That was offside!"

The other Torrent men joined in from the side-lines, adding indignant appeals for common sense and generally maligning Forr's eyesight and gestation time. On the other side of the pitch, _Ghost Company's_ side, Kix shook his head. "Was not. Play on."

Rex threw up his hands. "Come _on_ , Kix! Whose side are you on?"

"Mine of course!" Cody, smug and insufferable, was grinning at him from the other side of the field. "Sick of being trounced yet?"

"A one point advantage is hardly a trouncing!" Rex retorted hotly.

Cody's team joined in the jeering. Rex caught Fives' eye and nodded once. It was time to show these upstarts who they were messing with.

Their next play was rewarded with a goal of their own, the Torrent supporters whipping themselves into frenzy of excitement and shouting. Rex may or may not have also whooped along with them. It was good of Generals Skywalker and Kenobi to make themselves scarce after giving the men the day off as a midwinter treat; Rex knew the boys wouldn't have been able to cut loose with their officers around.

Captain Rex checked his chrono. Time for three more plays and the score was tied. The whistle went and the game resumed, spurred on by the raucous cries of the crowd, and shouts and grunts of the players. Their backs were against the wall. There was no alternative but victory. Just another day for the men in Torrent Company then, Rex smiled to himself. Just another day.


	9. Obi-Wan and Plo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Fourth day of Christmas, the Clone Wars gave to me—Obi-Wan and Plo.

It was midwinter on Coruscant and the shops were bustling, busy places full of middle-class Coruscanti searching for midwinter gifts for their loved ones. In amidst the tumult of citizens going about their business, three hooded figures were slowly making their way through the crowds, back towards the Jedi Temple. Their robes marked their status as the peacekeepers of the Republic, as did the lightsabers at their belts, or in the case of the smallest one, two lightsaber hilts.

"Urgh! Masters, do I _have_ to wear the hood up? It's so hot today," the shortest of the trio complained, "not to mention it messes with my echolocation."

The bearded human to her side just chuckled as he shucked his own hood. "Now that our mission is accomplished, I see no reason why you cannot relax a little, Ahsoka."

The complainer threw back her hood with a sigh of relief, revealing striped montrals and orange skin of a Togruta. "Thank you, Master Kenobi."

"We were indeed fortunate that everything went smoothly," Master Plo said levelly on Ahsoka's right. "As a member of CIS intelligence, Kawani Barun has valuable information on Separatist spy networks on Coruscant. Now we have a chance to find out where Dooku will strike next."

Ahsoka smiled in satisfaction of a job well done. Then she was almost run down by a Trandoshan who clearly wasn't paying attention to where he was going. Swerving around the absent-minded reptile, she asked, "next time, can we please take CSF up on their offer of a speeder?"

"Perhaps if you hadn't _crashed_ our flitter, Padawan, we would not be walking. Consider it a lesson in consequences. I fear that you have picked up Anakin's flying habits," Obi-Wan remarked with a twinkle in his eye as he exchanged an amused look with Master Plo over Ahsoka's head.

"Yes, Master." Ahsoka subsided.

The crowds got thicker as they neared a popular shopping district, all three Jedi getting jostled in spite of their forbidding appearance. Ahoska quickly found out that you could earn bruised ribs just as quickly in a crowd of determined shoppers as you could on the field of battle.

"What is going on?" Ahsoka muttered. She wasn't quiet enough and the other Jedi overheard.

"It is midwinter celebrations," Master Plo said in his deep voice. "Everyone is shopping for gifts."

Ahsoka looked up at him, puzzled. "Gifts? Like the Secret Santa that Senator Amidala is doing? I thought that was just an Alderaan tradition."

"One which has evidently spread here," Master Kenobi remarked in his polished Coruscanti accent. "I do believe that a fifth of the business that these retailers get is during the midwinter season."

"Apparently they all shop on the same day too." Ashoka muttered under her breath, extricating her toes from under someone's boot.

The trio found themselves funnelled against the shop fronts by the bustling crowd. Ahsoka stared through the shop fronts at all the colourful displays of cheerful gadgets and festive widgets.

"So… who do people buy presents for?" Ahsoka blurted out. "And why don't _we_ do this?"

"As Jedi, it isn't appropriate for us to get attached to things," Plo Koon explained. "We have our own rituals; the midwinter lightsaber displays and the mid-winter feast."

"To answer your first question, Ahsoka, normally citizens buy gifts for their family, loved ones, and friends," Master Kenobi added.

"Why do you ask, little 'Soka?" Master Plo asked.

Ahsoka ducked her head, feeling her lekku stripes flush charcoal. "I just thought it might be nice to get the men of Torrent something for midwinter, Master Plo."

Both Masters were silent for a long moment, just looking at each other with their impenetrable gazes and Ahoska felt her stripes darken even more as she waited for the inevitable reprimand and lecture about attachment and the distance needed between a commander and her men.

"It is good of you to think of your men, Padawan," Master Plo said. "I'm sure they would appreciate the gesture."

"After all, I doubt that the Kaminoans would have celebrated midwinter," Master Kenobi remarked.

No one said what all of them were thinking, that many of the clones in the barracks would not be still alive next midwinter. The thought hung in the air–the bantha in the room.

"I can get the men a present then?" Ahsoka asked.

Plo Koon looked at Obi-Wan, who nodded. "I don't see why not, Ahsoka," Plo Koon said. "When we get back to the Temple, I will see that you have some credits for expenses."

"Thank you, Master."

"Don't thank him yet," Obi-Wan remarked dryly. "You've still got to explain to Master Enziica why you will not returning her flitter."

Ahsoka groaned at the thought of facing the persnickety old Jedi in charge of expenses and Temple assets.

Plo Koon's eyes crinkled around his antiox breath mask and Obi-Wan cracked a grin.

"As I said, Padawan, consequences."


	10. Dooku's Henchmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Third day of Christmas, the Clone Wars gave to me—Dooku's henchmen.

War has spread across the galaxy. The hour grows late as Darth Tyrannus, Count of Serenno, speaks with his Master, seeking council. Things are moving quickly now; the smog of war reaches out across the stars, enfolding whole star systems in its grasp.

Dooku sat at his desk, starlight silhouetting him and the empty hall stretching in front of him— a yawing dark chasm, illuminated only by the shimmering blue hologram of his Master and the twinkling midwinter lights that the droids had felt it necessary to festoon the entire estate with. Midwinter will be tomorrow, but for now, everything is business.

Dooku clasped his hands together. "…and what of the Zabrak brothers, my lord?"

Far away on Coruscant, his Master didn't reply, instead choosing to sip from a steaming mug. " _I_ will deal with Maul and your animal of an apprentice. You need not concern yourself with their fate, Lord Tyrannus. It has come to my attention that our General may be becoming complacent again."

"Master, Grievous is simply restless. Surely with the latest developments—"

Sidious shot forward, hissing in displeasure and Dooku fell silent.

The Dark Lord of the Sith set his drink to one side. "That was sloppy, Apprentice. No detail."

"Yes, Master."

"I want that encryption module back. Inform Grievous that he will be commanding the offensive." Barely visible under the dark hood, one side of Sidious' mouth curved upwards. "A midwinter gift for the General." His lips straightened out again, pressing together in a thin line. "Make it clear that he is not to proceed until the module has been recovered."

Dooku bowed to cover his discomfort. It was an oddly elegant and refined gesture, considering he was still seated at the time. Even after all these years of service, Dooku still had no idea how deep or far-reaching Lord Sidious' intelligence network was. This was not the first time that his Master had managed to disconcert him with knowledge of events.

"As you wish, my Lord," Dooku said, "My spies tell me that Grievous has also been leaning on Poggle the Lesser for increased battle droid production; obviously the General has been listening to our own propaganda about battle droid numbers. With your permission, Master, I will ensure no further communication between the two."

Sidious' eyes gleamed in the dark recess of his hood. "Do it." The shimmering hologram reached to one side, his arm vanished as it reached the edge of the camera angle then reappeared with the steaming mug from before.

Dooku resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. It was most unlike Sidious to multi-task during a meeting. "Tea, Master?"

"Mulled wine, Apprentice. I recommend you try some, part of the, ah, festivities." Only Lord Sidious could make festivities sound like another name for sewerage.

"Yes, Master."

"I am sending you to Raxus; the Parliament needs to be placated once more. See that you engage Bane's services again; I will have need for him. I have a midwinter gift for you also, Lord Tyrannus. Two new fleets of _Providence_ -class ships await your orders—use them wisely. This war is coming to an end, but not just yet."

With that, the hologram faded away. Dooku let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. He pressed a button on his desk and the lights came on, lighting up the vast hall. The door creaked and a B1 battle droid tottered obediently into the room.

"Sir?"

Dooku pushed his chair back and stood. "Prepare my ship for departure."

"But sir," the droid protested in its tinny voice, "your midwinter dinner is ready now."

Dooku paused where he was, one hand picking up his cape. Then he swept the cape up, clasping together as it settled around his shoulder. "It'll have to wait."

* * *

A pair of B1 droids watched glumly as the twinkling light of Dooku's sloop vanished into Serenno's atmosphere.

One of them threw up his arms in disgust. "Well that's just great! All that time spent preparing and Master just vanishes. We even went and found a midwinter tree!"

"Look on the bright side," the droid on the other side of the complainer chipped in. "We could be serving on General Grievous' flagship."

"Oh yeah!"

"Come on. Let's go get our servo motors adjusted. Four-Four-Seven said that there was even an oil bath down in Maintenance."

"What are we waiting for?"

The droids clanked off to take advantage of the amenities and the midwinter lull. Stars twinkled in the skies above them, millions of worlds hanging in the heavens. Peaceful. Undisturbed. And unseen by all but a gifted few, the darkness deepened further.


	11. Two Trusty Droids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Second day of Christmas, the Clone Wars gave to me—Two trusty droids.

It was late at night in the Jedi Temple, but the light was still burning in Ahsoka's quarters. She'd been hard at work now for hours and was still stumped.

"Urgh!" She rested her forehead in her palms. "It can't be _this_ hard to find a present!"

There was a concerned toodle from the corner and R2 rolled out from the shadows, nudging Ahsoka's thigh as she sat in front of her desk. Ahsoka forced a smile and patted the astromech on its dome.

"I'm alright, Artooie, just at a bit of a loss."

R2 beeped again, sounding for all the world like an organic that wanted to hear more rather than a droid.

"I wanted to get the men of Torrent something special for midwinter," Ahsoka explained. "But I haven't the faintest idea what to get for a hundred and fifty-odd men." She sighed.

R2 trundled over the desk's computer terminal, extended his scomp link and plugged in. The holodisplay above Ahsoka's desk started flashing up with images of various items that R2 suggested; coats, scarves, droid lubricant oil…

Ahsoka raised an eyebrow. "R2!"

The astromech's whistle sounded almost contrite, making Ahsoka laugh. "Don't worry, R2. I'm sure I can organise a trip to the droid spa for you."

Ahsoka flopped back onto her mattress and stared at the ceiling. "I still just don't know what to get them. After all, it's not like they'd be interested in the latest holonovel or socks. Everything I can find about midwinter celebrations on the HoloNet makes me think that Coruscant just isn't the same as Alderaan. On Alderaan, it would be snowy right now, but Weather Control has us scheduled for sunny days for the next few months."

R2 chuckled in his funny electronic way and Ahsoka sat bolt upright.

"You're kidding!"

The little droid made a rude noise. Ahsoka rushed over and knelt down to give him a massive hug. "I'm sorry, R2! I didn't mean it like that!"

Mollified, R2 whistled at her and Ahsoka beamed. "Thanks so much. You're the best, Artooie!"

* * *

"I say, R2, are you sure we are allowed to be in here?"

The blue and white astromech just whistled and kept going along the non-descript grey durasteel corridor, forcing Threepio to clatter after him.

"R2-D2! I _demand_ that you answer me! You're going to get us both into trouble."

R2 halted in front of a solid door with a forbidding looking electronic lock. It failed to budge. The astromech backed up a bit and tried again. The door stayed shut. R2 went over to the computer terminal, muttering darkly as he plugged in and started slicing the door controls.

Threepio finally caught up with his smaller compatriot and tapped R2's dome in admonishment. "It's no wonder that I am with Miss Padme and you are on the front lines with such language!"

The door slid open, lights flickering into life and Threepio stared at the vast cavern that was suddenly revealed. The room was huge, the ceiling looming far above and the bottom vanished into blackness. A narrow catwalk extended to a central platform that was ringed with consoles and terminals. R2 headed for the computers. "R2! R2!" Threepio cried. R2 kept going.

Reluctantly, the golden protocol droid tottered after his friend, fretting the whole time. "We'll be dismantled for sure, not even Mistress Padme will save us this time if we're caught, and it'll be all _your_ fault, R2!"

* * *

Ahsoka had just finished up her half of the preparations when R2 and Threepio returned.

"Done!" She announced. "How did you two get on?"

"Well if you must know…" Threepio started.

R2 beeped an affirmative.

"Thanks buddy!" Ahsoka grinned. "I can't wait to see what the guys think of this."


	12. A Padawan Named Ahsoka To Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the First day of Christmas, the Clone Wars gave to me—A Padawan named Ahsoka to train.

Clone Captain Rex was in his office reviewing the company roster when he got the first hint that something had gone wrong. Well, not really a hint, more like a blatant announcement. His second in command, Sergeant Coric burst into his office, out of breath as though he'd been running and managed to gasp out, "you're needed in the mess, Captain. There's… well… you'd better see for yourself, sir." Then he was gone.

Rex stared at the door for a beat, poleaxed. Then his training kicked in. He grabbed his DC-17 pistols out from his desk drawer (he didn't care what the regs said, there was no way he was going around unarmed), briefly cursed himself for wearing his barrack fatigues rather than his armour, and headed for the mess hall at a sprint.

He was more than halfway there when, rounding a blind corner, he ran smack into Kix. Both men went sprawling, limbs tangled as they crashed to the floor.

"Kiiiix!" Rex growled out, his left wrist throbbing from where he'd used it to break his fall.

The medic rolled off Rex, rubbing his ribs gingerly. "Sorry, sir!" he managed to gasp.

"What in the blue blazes were you doing, Kix?" Rex grumbled as he got to his feet and started looking around for one of his blasters, which had gone skittering across the floor in the collision.

"Coming to get you actually, Captain." Kix straightened and handed Rex the errant blaster. "Something funny is going on outside, sir. I think you should take a look."

Rex frowned. _The mess hall and the exterior of the base at the same time?_ He asked the first question that came to mind, "Seppie attack?"

Kix shook his head. "As I said, sir, I think you should take a look."

Rex chewed on his lip, thinking. "We'd better check perimeter security first. Then I'll deal with whatever's in the mess hall. Here." He gave Kix his spare blaster, shutting off the other man's protests with a single look. The two clones moved quietly, but swiftly towards the main entrance to the barrack building, sticking close to the edges of the corridor in case they should run into enemy fire.

Covering the door with his blaster, Rex caught Kix's eye and nodded. The other man shifted his angle so that the arc of his fire covered the left side of the door, the medic's other hand on the door controls. Rex held out his free hand, three fingers up. _Three, two, one_. On Rex's signal, Kix hit the door stud and the blast door flew open. Rex rushed out, blaster at the ready, rapidly scanning the right hand-side of courtyard for danger. In the corner of his eye, he saw Kix was doing the same for the courtyard's left hand-side. _Nothing._

Well, that wasn't quite right. Rex blinked rapidly, sure he was seeing things.

Kix came over to him. "I tried to tell you, Captain." He offered Rex his blaster back, grip first. Rex took it in a daze.

A white blanket had descended over the base, turning the bleak grey durasteel into a fluffy white wonderland. Somewhere under the white was yesterday's impromptu bolo-ball court, but Rex couldn't for the life of him see the orange goal markers. It was all a blur of white. Fat snowflakes were still drifting down from the grey sky. "Kix, is that… snow?"

"Yes, sir. Scanners confirm it's snow, sir."

Rex bent down and scooped a handful of the cold wet powder with his bare hand. "Weather Control had forecast sunny skies," he muttered as he squeezed the snow, watching it form into a small ball of ice with ridges where his fingers had been.

"That's just it, sir," Kix said. "Apparently, Weather Control says it's sunny today. Heads are probably going to roll over this."

Rex lobbed his ice ball towards a pile of white crates, watching as it broke apart when it hit. "I guess it really isn't our problem then, Kix."

"Well yes, sir. But that doesn't mean we can't have some fun."

Startled, Rex looked at Kix who had a mischevious look in his eyes.

"Permission for a snowball fight later, sir?"

A slow smile spread across Rex's face. "Mess hall first, I think, Kix. Then we'll discuss some impromptu hand-eye coordination and trajectory training."

"Using compacted frozen water?" Kix quipped.

Rex chuckled. "What else?"

* * *

The mess hall was impossible to get to, the corridor was choked with jostling bodies and men yelling at decibel levels that rivalled yesterday's revelry. Rex's frown deepened at this breakdown of discipline. He had to bellow in order to be heard over the din. "Atten-shun!"

And just like that, you could hear a pin drop.

He threaded his way through the ramrod straight troopers, casting reproving looks left and right, and deriving a smidgen of satisfaction from the blushes and embarrassed looks amongst the men. Finally, he was in front of the smooth doors to the mess hall. Coric was also standing there at attention. _Bingo._

"Sergeant Coric." Rex glowered at his second. "Report."

Coric snapped off a salute. "Sir, as you know, it's time for the men's midday meal, but the mess hall has been barricaded off and a number of delivery drivers have been seen offloading unknown cargo inside."

"Why haven't you overridden the door controls?"

"That's just it, sir. It's the Commander's code that is locking us out."

Rex's irritation dissolved, replaced by bewilderment. "Commander Cody?"

"No, Captain. Commander Tano."

Rex brought up his wrist to open a comm channel to the Commander, then smothered a curse when he realised his com-link was back in his barrack room along with his armour. He strode forward and rapped sharply on the durasteel door. He leaned closer to the door. "Commander Tano?" he called.

The door flew open revealing the diminutive Jedi padawan standing there.

"Oh Captain Rex, Great to see you! Happy midwinter!" She beamed up at him.

"And to you too, sir." Rex faltered. "Uh, Commander? Is there a reason you've locked the men out of the mess hall?"

Ahsoka looked past him for the first time, her montrals flushing charcoal as she caught a glimpse of the crowd outside. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh! I'm sorry, I was hoping to be done by now."

She stood aside, gesturing to the inside of the mess hall. "I thought you and the men deserved a midwinter present, and seeing as you all seem very fond of civilian food…"

Rex could only gape at the extravaganza of food that was laid out in the mess hall. Three of the large tables had been pushed together to form a continuous table that was laden with food stuffs of every description. In a daze he wandered over to the buffet, noticing new dishes with every glance he took. Steaming piles of greens, sliced meats, savoury smelling stew-looking things… Some foods he recognised from the Holonet, but he had no idea what most of it was. He looked down at a particularly unappealing looking brown liquid that was still bubbling and noticed a small, handwritten flimsy label that informed him the brown sludge was actually pletik soup and that it was savoury with a spicy kick to it.

Rex picked up the small placecard and studied it. It looked like the Commander's writing. He replaced it carefully and looked at Ahsoka. She looked very small, hands twisting behind her back, eyes searching his face, not at all like the confident Jedi padawan he'd gotten to know since Christophsis.

"If you don't like it, I can get rid of it," she blurted out. "I just thought…"

He went over and with barely a hesitation put a hand on her shoulder, looking into her eyes. "No. It's perfect, Commander. The men are going to love it. Thank you so much."

Ahsoka's earlier smile returned in force and Rex went and stuck his head back outside where his men were still obediently standing at attention.

"At ease, men. Now the Commander has, for reasons beyond me, decided that you lot deserved a midwinter gift." He glanced down as Ahsoka came to stand beside him. "Now say thank you, and get in there and do that spread justice."

A cheer broke out amongst the men making Ahsoka's lekku darken again. Rex and Ahsoka got out of the way as the men crowded into the mess hall, almost tripping over one another as the men in front halted, taken aback by the Commander's gift.

Once they were all inside, Rex went over to the intercom panel, opening a channel to speakers all over Torrent's barracks. "Attention. This is Captain Rex speaking. All members of Torrent Company report to the mess hall." With a click, he closed the line and grinned at the Commander whose smile went from ear to ear.

"Come on, Commander. We'd best get you something to eat before those walking appetites scoff the lot."

She giggled slightly at his remark, but she went back into the mess hall. Clone Captain Rex followed his Commander into the room, ready for his first ever midwinter feast.

* * *

"Urgh!" Ahosoka moaned slightly, clutching her side. "Maybe exercise after eating wasn't such a good idea after all..."

Captain Rex dove for her and dragged her down behind a nearby crate just as a sparkly white missile sailed overhead. Had he been an instant slower, the Commander would've gotten a face full of snow.

Her eyes narrowed. "That was Kix."

"Yes, sir," Rex said. "He seems to be very adept at this type of hand-eye coordination exercise."

His drollery earned him a roll of her eyes. "Snowball fight, Rexter. It's a snowball fight. Apparently it's a traditional Alderaan midwinter pasttime."

The slight crunch of footsteps on snow caught their attention. Ahsoka caught his eye and grinned. As one, they popped up and peppered Kix, who was trying to sneak up on them, with a flurry of snowballs.

"Bit odd for snow on Coruscant though," Rex remarked as they flopped back down behind the pile of crates that was serving them as cover.

"Well…" Ahsoka flushed. "I may've asked R2 if he could tweak Weather Control, just for today."

Rex just stared at her.

"I thought you and the men deserved a proper midwinter with all the trimmings."

Rex swallowed, finding his voice which was gruffer that normal. "Thank you, Commander. I know the men really enjoyed themselves today—I know I did."

The Commander held his gaze for a long time then she peeked out around the crate and ducked back down, her eyes shining with excitement. "Come on, Rexter! We can take 'em!"

Rex caught side of a line of snow-covered clones advancing towards them. "Roger that, sir!"

And so, let slip the dogs of war…


End file.
